Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)

They shared a grin.

They’d been friends a long time—I could tell. People like them had a vibe about them, like their friendship had its own airwave. The West I was seeing right then was a West I hadn’t seen before. I’d only ever seen serious or sexy West.

Not good-guy West.

This felt a lot like good-guy West.

“Well...” I cleared my throat and pulled my myriad of papers out of my folder. “We’ve rebranded the logo, which is here...”

“Rock Solid...for your pleasure. Ha!” Beck barked out the most infectious laugh I’d ever heard and smacked his hand against the table. “That’s fuckin’ genius. Did he tell you that?”

“Close.” I couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Well, it’s fuckin’ genius. True too.” He put that sheet down. “Go on.”

I talked him through everything else we’d done, and between the three of us, three hours and a take-out lunch later, we had a ton of ideas for promotions, more than we’d have gotten between me and West. Beck was a little wild, but he was also incredibly business-minded.

More than that, with him around, West and I had to focus on work—and not each other.

I hoped he’d stay around. We were much more productive with him.

“You staying at a hotel, Mia?” Beck said as I packed my things up.

I shook my head. “My boss doesn’t do hotels. She had the apartment she’d booked transferred to me. I’m just a few blocks away.”

“What are you doing for dinner tonight? I’m not asking her on a date!” he directed at West. “I was gonna cook at your place. I haven’t been to the store yet.”

“What makes you think I have?” West asked.

“Nothing. But, if I tell you I’m cookin’ at yours, you’re gonna go.” Beck grinned. “So? Mia?”

My gaze flitted between them, but at West’s shrug, I nodded. “All right. Sounds good. Thank you.”

“Awesome. Tell me your address and—”

“I’ll get her,” West interrupted. He swung his bright, blue gaze from me to Beck.

Beck didn’t argue.

Neither did I.

I probably should have.



What do you wear to dinner with a guy you can’t stop getting naked with and his business partner, who both technically currently employ you?

I didn’t know, either.

That was why I’d ended up wearing the same jeans as earlier, changed into a plain, white tank top, and thrown a black lace kimono over the top. My feet were also killing from wearing heels all day, so I’d put on plain, black flats.

I was about to be even shorter than West. Like five inches weren’t enough.

He’d been on my mind ever since I’d left the club. Sometimes with Beck, sometimes without, but every time Beck crept into my consciousness, it was because their friendship was much like one I was already familiar with: mine and Allie’s.

It was that happy-go-lucky, easy relationship that silently spoke of undying loyalty and unwavering respect that brought out another side of everyone.

I found it hilarious that I was a bit of a dick alone, but with Allie, I was a lot of a dick.

Alone, West was serious and powerful. With Beck, he seemed like...one of the guys.

A part of me—a bad, bad part of me—wanted to explore that side of him, get to know him better. I had a feeling that the one-of-the-guys West was the best part of him.

Aside from the naked part of him. That won out for sure.

I grabbed my purse when two knocks sounded at my door. My phone rang almost the moment I threw it in, so I yelled, “Two secs!” and fished it back out to check the screen.

Darren.

Why was Darren calling me? He had no reason to call me. I didn’t want him to call me.

I wanted him to take a long walk off a short pier.

I sent it to voicemail, threw my phone back in, and opened the front door. My line of sight was barely on par with West’s shoulders, and my teeth found my lower lip as I peered up at him.

“Maybe I should put some heels on.”

He looked down at me, a grin stretching across his handsome face. “I agree. I can wait.”

I sighed and turned. I should have known better than to even try. I wasn’t even short; that was the worst thing. He was just very tall and very wide. He made me look like a pixie.

I exited my bedroom wearing the same lace-up heels I had been the night we’d explored the strip clubs. His gaze dropped to my feet, his lips twitching, before he looked back up and met my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Should we go?”

He looked as though he wanted to say no, but he nodded and held the door for me. I scooted past him, fumbling for my keys in my purse, and waited as he closed the door. Something that felt eerily like unsaid words hung in the air between us, lending a hint of awkwardness, as if the permanent tension that buzzed around us hadn’t been bad enough.